The Sun Inside You
by Mildly Rabid
Summary: As Azula's insanity worsens, Aang heads to the spirit world to bargain for her soul. The only problem is, he can't find who to ask... Instead, fighting through a thicket of Azula's memories, he faces temptations of his own. Will he ever discover the nature of evil? (kinda) Will Uncle Iroh's flashback be the cutest? (obvs) What one thing do all the four elements comprise? (read on!)


"The Sun Inside You"

A Creative Project for my CS Lewis Freshman Year Seminar

(Sorry if it's heavy-handed, not going to change it now.)

November 11, 2013

" _Their names are Tui and La, the moon and the ocean, yin and yang, light and darkness—good and evil."_

 _Aang's fear was palpable. He swallowed hard, careful not to break his neutral expression. Koh wheeled around at the sound, but was frustrated yet again. Suddenly, the airbender's muscles started shifting of their own accord, and although he tried to suppress them, it was to no avail… Koh kept talking, oblivious… he was turning slowly toward Aang now; any moment they'd be face to face-_

Aang jolted upright in his bed, panting hard. He reached up and touched his cheeks, his eyes, his nose. No, he was all right: Koh the Face-Stealer had not taken his face.

It was the sort of eerie dark that comes before the threat of sunrise draws weary farmers and industrious housewives from their beds. The birds hadn't started chirping yet, and all Aang could hear was the gentle padding of his feet on dark carpeted stair steps. In complete darkness he made his way through the palace, meticulously avoiding the guarded areas, careful not to wake any of the servants, who still deserved a good three more hours of sleep before the sunrise set them to their work. A glimpse of blue moonlight slipped through the top of a window, so that he could barely make out the expanse of the stairwell and one corner of an ornate bronze-gold picture-frame, and the light turned the frame-edge green, so that in the shadowed room its leafy scrolls looked like grotesque figures.

At the foot of the stairs there was a mirror, and here the moon shone unobstructed. Aang examined his reflection, tracing the blue arrow tattoos from the backs of his hands down to his spine, down to his feet and back up his spine to his forehead. The mark of a master airbender—the youngest yet—and all he had left from his childhood _. How full of destiny you were then…it's been completed now._ Only a year had gone by, but the war had aged him. His thirteen-year-old frame stooped a little; his eyes were ringed by purple and his face looked…worn. _What would Gyatso have thought to see me here now?_

* * *

"This is worse than before, Aang. I'm worried that she won't just bounce back. Her mind looks like it just might leave her."

"Leave her? Is that even possible?"

"I don't know, Aang. It seems pretty serious."

* * *

He put on the gold robe made especially for him, the Avatar, and the heavy clay beads of his monk's necklace. But the robe looked oversized as it hung from his shoulders, and his collarbones stuck out awkwardly. He sighed, and took off the raiment, leaving only his traditional brown air nomad's trousers.

He strolled out onto the balcony, where he could have a good view of the city and of the moon. Full moons always made him sad; perhaps because he always thought the face in the moon was crying.

He sat down on the cool tile and began to meditate, waiting for his friends, who had promised to stay the night with him as he went to the Spirit World to bargain for Princess Azula's soul.

* * *

Aang found himself under a pecan tree in the dappled shade of the woods. Cautiously, he tried to make a sphere of air in his palms—to no effect. Having thus confirmed that he was in the Spirit World, he set about finding Yue. Where to start? On earth, he reasoned, the moon and ocean spirits were in a spring, so perhaps here they were in a spring too. Climbing a tree to survey the land, he saw a grove of willows and decided that would be his first guess, so he climbed back down and began the slow trek onward, lamenting his inability to hang-glide in the windless Spirit World.

* * *

A teenage girl bent over the water, dressed in a white sealskin parka stitched with silver and pale blue tribal designs. Her long white hair was tied at the crown of her head almost in a topknot, only the knot was split into two very long loops that fell like the outline of a hood at the back of her head. But her hair was longer still, so the rest was gathered by large beads into two chunks, which rested on either shoulder and fell down to her waist. Two thin wisps of hair came from her center part, brushed her cheeks and were tucked back in the topknot: a tradition of the Water Tribe.

This was the Yue that Aang recognized.

"Yue!" he called. "I'm so glad I found you."

The girl looked up, luminous eyes peering into his face, and stopped, confused. Then a look of realization washed over her countenance. "Aang! It's been so long."

"Only a year, Yue."

"A year feels like a lifetime in the Spirit World. I had almost forgotten you."

Aang shifted uncomfortably. "So… What's it like, being the moon now and all?"

She laughed, and her laughter sounded like bells.

 _This is kinda freaky._ He shifted some more; as her otherworldliness was making him nervous. "I need to speak with the ocean spirit," he blurted finally.

"What for?"

"It's Azula. She went insane after we defeated her, and Katara's worried that the battle in her soul might kill her."

Yue's jaw dropped in shock , and Aang realized then that she never knew they had won the war.

No time for that now. "Do you know how I can speak to the ocean spirit? Koh told me that the moon and the ocean spirits are opposites, that they represent good and evil, so I thought if I could talk to the ocean spirit I might be able to convince him to let Azula go."

Yue looked puzzled. She looked like she was about to speak, then fell silent; then started again, then paused again. She pondered for a moment, before saying measuredly, "Koh lied to you. La's not at all like that, and even if he were, you've talked to him before—he doesn't talk back. I don't know how you'll find evil here, but one thing I _do_ know—whatever evil is, it's not the ocean spirit. I'd venture it's not even a spirit at all. More of a… thing." With that, she pointed him toward a thicket where he might find Azula's spirit. "Best of luck to you!" she called, and he ventured on, shoulders drooping.

Aang nimbly leapt over fallen trees to the mouth of the thicket. Oversized thorn vines, untouched for ages, sent off small runners that laced through the framework until the entire thing was very dark—and pointy. _Seems like the proper place for Azula,_ he thought bitterly.

He heard a stirring behind him."Azula?"

"Oh look. It's the Avatar." The Fire Nation princess sat casually atop a boulder, as if she'd been waiting for him. "Come to bridge the two worlds, now, have you?" She gave a laugh of derision. This was more like the Azula he knew, the one for so long bent on killing him.

His face steeled. "It's none of your business."

Her smirk grew. "Oh, I know what you're here for, Avatar. You're here to speak with me." This small amount of power was clearly exhilarating for her after two months in prison. "Well I won't make it _too_ easy for you; that wouldn't be any fun." She vaulted off the boulder and maneuvered deep into the thicket, with acrobatic flourish, until he couldn't see her anymore. "I'll be waiting!"

Aang scanned the surrounding woods. What if it was a trap? Somehow, though, he knew it was the right way to go: he was certain to find Azula there, no matter how uncomfortable the journey would be. Suddenly, as he was looking towards his left, another path came into focus, zooming in on his vision, actually, until he could hardly see anything else. He shook his head, wondering if the strange phenomenon had really happened to him. _It must just be a Spirit World thing._ Hopefully, he headed down the path. It seemed to swing around the thicket and turn sharply into its heart; the path looked very familiar—conventional, even—and it sure looked like following it would take several thorn scrapes out of his journey. He started along it.

But the longer he walked, a strange thing occurred: he noticed himself becoming drowsier and drowsier. He looked down at his hands; they were almost transparent. He cried aloud and sprinted back toward the thicket.

With each step, Aang became more solid, now reaching the thicket and running like a madman in an attempt to catch up with Azula. As he rounded a bend, though, it opened into a giant room. He recognized it immediately: the Fire Lord's throne room. The raised trough of oil was lit, making a wall of flames in front of the throne. Ornate tapestries covered the walls in red. Azula's grandfather was sitting on the throne, and his grown son Ozai was showing off his children's firebending abilities. The older child, Zuko, fumbled, leading his father to shake his head; then, seizing the opportunity, an eight year old Azula stepped up and demonstrated her mastery, performing difficult bending forms and wielding the fire almost effortlessly. Ozai beamed with pride.

Aang realized that no one could see him except for young Azula. As she sat down, she glanced at him, and he heard her triumphant voice in his thoughts. _"See? This is what I live for."_

"Didn't it change?"

" _Father grew more and more demanding, yes. More difficult to please. But I never stepped outside his will; when I followed his rules I was in my element; I had control, I had comfort knowing if I worked hard enough I could always please him."_ The voice paused, and the girl's brow furrowed. " _Until-_ " The voice couldn't finish. He heard it inhale sharply, choking back sobs.

Aang stared at her for a while, concerned, understanding her struggle better now. He thought of the drowsy path. "What if the uncomfortable way is better? What if it frees you?"

Silence.

Aang stole out and took another fork in the thicket.

* * *

Suddenly, the path reached a dead end, blocked by a boulder Azula must have loosed from the cliff to his right. _It'll take all day to move this!_ It was always frustrating for Aang to not be able to bend the elements in the Spirit World, but this time he was more frustrated than ever. _I can't give up on Azula. I have to press on. All or nothing._ He strained and pushed the rock for about half an hour, growing weaker and weaker with each push. Rest began calling him. _I'm not strong enough,_ he thought. _Maybe it's nothing._ He straightened his shoulders. _No, I've got to press on. Well, perhaps a short rest wouldn't hurt._ He sat down for a moment, growing ever more discouraged. The longer he avoided the issue, the drowsier he became, and his eyelids became as heavy as the boulder itself…

"TWINKLETOES!"

His earthbending teacher's voice was ringing through his head with her trademark sarcasm.

"Stop whining and find a way out! Be stubborn!"

"But I can't move the boulder!"

"Not with a one-and-done shove you can't. You're going to have to show some commitment. Stop thinking like an airbender and grow some roots for a change."

That was it: roots! Aang thanked the memory of his teacher and began tugging at the roots underneath the boulder. Slowly, one by one, they loosened the dirt beneath it. He carved a pathway, tugged one last root, and the rock rolled out of its indention. Success!

He staggered through the hole in the thicket, into a beautiful garden. He heard a woman's voice.

"Azula, why don't you pick out a flower for Ty Lee? I'm sure it'd brighten her day for you to bring one to her."

"But if I go to her house I'll be expected to stay all day, and-"

"Azula…"

"Mom! When she isn't doing cartwheels, she never shuts up!"

Ursa, Azula's mother, laughed. Her laughter was deep and smooth and warm. "That may be true," and here she smiled mischievously, "but sometimes it's worth it to do things that aren't fun for the sake of your friends."

"I don't have to. _I_ didn't break her arm." Still, as Ursa walked away, Azula looked down at the yellow rose she had plucked, and thought again.

Aang stood there, curious. Young Azula invited him to sit down. _"I gave her the flower, you know. Don't look at me like that."_

Aang just sat there silently, staring at the clouds.

" _Most days I didn't have the patience though. Most days I only did my duty, or only what would help_ me _, and no more. Now that I look back on it, it was almost a sort of laziness."_ After getting this out, she looked shocked that she'd said so much. _"It's weird to have you in my mind anyway."_

"The weirdest part is that I don't know if it's your childhood mind or your adult one."

" _Does it even matter though? The truth is that I've come back to these memories every day trying to sort things out."_ She paused. Her child's voice seemed so sincere, as if masks of many years were sloughing off. She scrambled put them on again. _"But I wonder if any of it_ can _be sorted out. She never loved me, you know. She thought I was a monster."_

"I don't know; she seems like she loved you."

As he strode slowly back into the thicket, he could see the tunnel he had just walked through had morphed slightly. The vines were losing their thorns, and blossoming with passion flowers.

* * *

Aang's feet were bloodied from the sharp rocks and thorns by now, and the thicket grew denser and denser, tearing holes in his pants and making deeper, uglier scratches on his torso as he had to slip through tighter spaces to follow the trail. Suddenly the path drew next to a brook, and Aang waded along it, feeling the cool water wash over him. The hot sting of his thorn-poisoned wounds subsided as he splashed himself in the stream. In fact, all of his emotions seemed to be seeping from him, all but the simple peace of the cool stream. He kept wading, but the brook wound farther and farther away from the trail. _Perhaps I should be getting back,_ he thought, but a sort of ripple in the air drew his field of vision toward the stream again. _Forget all those things,_ a voice seemed to be saying. _Cast aside your cares. Isn't that what the monks taught you?_ He shuffled along, as the stream wound farther and farther, and the air grew darker and darker, so that he could not see himself growing more transparent.

The voice of Roku, his predecessor, stopped him. "Aang! You need to care! You are the Avatar; your responsibility is too important not to. Gather intensity; do not grow cold."

At that moment, Roku's spirit left. Aang stepped out of the brook back into the thicket, climbing further and further in, expecting to meet the path any second now—only to find that he was hopelessly lost. Where had it gone? He fought through the brambles, re-opening the old wounds. "I. Do. Care!" he panted. With one final struggle, he dove into the thickest part, and suddenly he was inside a tent.

Azula glanced at him, now seeming to be eleven years old, and camping out in the woods with her uncle; little did she know it would be the last time she'd spend quality time with her uncle before her brother was banished and Iroh went along to be his guide.

Uncle Iroh was making a little flame dance about his palm. "Do you know who taught the first firebenders?"

"Of course I do, uncle; the dragons taught them. But that's just a legend."

He chuckled. "You really think that, don't you?" His face grew contemplative. "Some legends are based in fact. The fire sages' legends are not as off the mark as you would think. But you forgot a part of the story," he said, a smile spreading across his middle-aged face and a tiny gleam in his eye. "The dragons learned from the sun."

Azula looked annoyed. "Why's that so important?"

His face grew serious. "It's important because not every firebender knows where their bending comes from. Some think it comes from their anger, because that is the only time they feel strongly enough to release their flame. The will is a fire, but a cold one, and its outbursts only make it colder. But the firebending you were born with"—and here the tiny flame danced between his fingers—"comes from a piece of the sun inside you." He sighed, smiling at the little flame. "Love can be represented by each of the four elements, but my favorite is as a flame, because like the sun, love's warm intensity gives life to all things." Iroh's eyes stared past her as if they saw something far off, something beautiful that she could not see.

Azula muttered under her breath. "Why doesn't that old coot ever make sense?" She made eye contact with Aang now that the flashback was over, and he heard her voice in his mind. _"I still don't understand what he meant."_

"I think he meant that living for yourself only makes you cold and calculating."

" _What's wrong with that?"_

"Fire is supposed to be warm."

She seemed shocked by the criticism, then sent a haughty glare in Aang's direction. _"Are you saying I'm not a master of my own element? You've seen my skills; they're unsurpassed! Not even my father can bend lightning like I can!"_

"Maybe being a cold person doesn't hurt your bending—maybe it hurts something else."

* * *

Aang traveled through the thorns with renewed determination, and the heart of the thicket was only a few yards away. But now each foot of ground covered was a struggle, prying giant vines apart, sliding through them, and letting them snap back behind him. The path became indistinguishable from the surrounding brush, but he knew where he was headed: the giant knot in the distance. Now the adult Azula he had met outside the thicket appeared through a tangle to his left. Somehow she had made it through unscathed.

She began mocking him: "Why hello there, air boy. You seem to be struggling, poor thing. Need any help?"

"I'm. Just. Fine!" he grunted, hissing in pain as he gashed his hand on another thorn he pushed aside. His pride swelled up within him, and he determined not to let her see how difficult it was for him. He became less cautious in his movements, gliding through the thorns more smoothly—and leaving deeper cuts, even gashes, in his flesh from the spikes. But the more prideful and stubborn he became, the more transparent he began to look…

* * *

"Aang? Are you alright? Aang? AANG!" Katara was panting from fear, shouting at the sleeping form in front of her as the white light glowing from his arrow tattoos and from his eyes flickered on and off. "This isn't supposed to happen! He's going dark but he's not coming back!"

* * *

As the vines closed in around him, Aang was barely keeping consciousness from the wounds and from the transparency: he was, quite literally, fading in and out. "Can't…do this…alone!" he finally sputtered, and at that moment, he came back to consciousness. Azula had disappeared—had she been there in the first place?—and his predecessor Avatar Roku came from within him, immediately catching Aang's falling frame with his own aged, bearded one, walking with him slowly, patiently, maneuvering around the vines in his robes.

"You have learned well, young Avatar. I was almost frightened that you would turn into Fire Lord Sozin just a moment ago."

"Turn _into_ him?"

Roku's wrinkled face kept its grave expression. "I was afraid you were falling into his same mistake: that of pride, of self-determination."

"Isn't self-determination a good thing?"

"No. _Determination_ is a good thing, but for one to trust primarily in him _self_ is to dismiss the possibility of his making mistakes. It also means closing himself to the help and counsel of others. That's what happened to Sozin, and you were becoming him by following his mistake. Although, I suppose you also could say that you were becoming him in the sense that we lose our identity in the traps we succumb to."

Suddenly it all made sense. The ripples in the air, the zooming in and out of focus, the distraction of one seemingly good thing from a better thing… "So, THE EVIL IS THE RIPPLES!"

He continued, pressing his fingers to his temples and closing his eyes in concentration. "That must be Azula's problem. She isn't evil because she wanted to be, she's evil because she was tricked. She started to believe that pleasing her dad, and looking out for herself, would make her feel validated and happy. Am I right, Roku?"

* * *

Aang looked up. Roku was gone. He was standing in the middle of a dressing chamber in the middle of the Fire Nation palace. Azula was putting her hair up in a top knot in front of the mirror. Suddenly Aang recognized the room as one of the Fire Lord's private chambers. So this scene must have happened the day of her coronation as Fire Lord, before the final battle!

" _Don't watch this. I don't want you to see me like this."_

"I bet I've seen you much worse in prison."

She resumed fixing her hair, forced to reenact the scene. Her front wisps were not cooperating, and she grew angrier and angrier. "Alright, hair, it's time to meet your doom!" The wisps fell, leaving jagged shreds in their wake.

Her mother's reflection stared at her sadly next to her in the mirror. "Such a shame. You always had such beautiful hair."

"Why are you here, Mother?" Azula spat.

"I wanted to see you. I wouldn't miss my own daughter's coronation," Ursa cooed softly.

Azula's face grew more angry, more venomous. "Don't pretend to act proud. I know what you really think of me. You think I'm a monster."

Her face was sorrowful. "I think you're confused. All your life you've used fear to control people, like your friends Mai and Ty Lee."

"Well what choice do I have? Trust is for fools. Fear is the only reliable way!" She looked down, embittered. "Even _you_ fear me."

"No, I love you, Azula. I do."

Unable to contain the mix of emotions fighting within her, Azula picked up her hairbrush and hurled it at the mirror with all her might. The mirror shattered, and she was left alone in the room, sobbing.

Aang could hear her sobs simultaneously in the air of the scene and in his head. He was lost for words.

"Do you replay this one most often?" he ventured after a few minutes.

She nodded, eyes still cast down on the floor.

" _Is_ fear the only way?"

"I…I don't know." Her voice was weak and dull. "I thought it was, but—you seem to have managed just fine without it." Her voice raised. "If only you'd never reappeared!" She looked to the side, bitterly. "I'm not sure if I mean that… I'm not sure if I would have been happy staying a monster forever, even if you hadn't come."

Her words gave Aang hope, so he nudged her along. "Maybe Iroh's right, and the fire of life comes from love. From trusting each other."

She shifted uncomfortably.

"It's natural to be afraid that people will reject you for your mistakes. But you can't let your pride keep you from admitting mistakes. You can't let fear shut you off from experiencing love. Maybe you need to learn from water. Water bends. Water heals because you let it overwhelm you, in its gentle way."

"But I can't learn from water. I'm a firebender."

"But that's just the thing: in their purest forms, none of the elements cancel each other out! Fire wasn't meant to be unbridled will: it was meant to be a spark. The spark of life. A piece of the sun inside you, like Iroh said—he should know; the dragons taught him. And the waterbenders taught him this: you can't have an uncompromising will and be healed at the same time. You need to change the source of your fire from _your_ _will_ to the _sun_ , like Zuko did. Fire doesn't have to conflict with water; it can complement it."

"But you don't understand. You're an airbender," she spat.

"That's right: I am an airbender. But I learned something from my opposite element too: you can have roots and still be free. My earthbending teacher taught me to keep working for something until I achieved it; to be stubborn as a rock. Freedom doesn't conflict with strength: only laziness does. And strength doesn't conflict with freedom: only rule-keeping does."

"So…what does water have to learn from fire?"

"You can't always be calm, especially not when people are suffering. The key is to be passionate for the right things. When your fire comes from the right source, it will be in harmony with each of the other elements. Every person needs all of them, because when combined, all of the elements add up to...love."

* * *

 **The opposite of free is comfortable. The opposite of strong is lazy. The opposite of passionate is self-absorbed. The opposite of healed is proud.**

 **Love, however—it is perilous, it is demanding, it is fierce, it requires surrender. And it is worth all that and more.**

 **Love frees us, heals us, strengthens us, impassions us.**


End file.
